


taking in as much as i can hold

by sickoflosiingsoulmates



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Baking, Canonical Character Death, Christmas Party, Coming Out, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Style, Gen, Gender Identity, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Canon, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 8,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29645157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickoflosiingsoulmates/pseuds/sickoflosiingsoulmates
Summary: a fic for (hopefully) every day of the d20 alphabet!one:ruby as she runs |two:a night in ricky & esther’s apartment |three:the bad kids (attempt) to bake cookies |four:fig, identity, and dance |five:a brief history of the sugar-plum fairy |six:christmas at kingston’s |seven:pok gukgak’s funeral |eight:ragh learns to love himself |nine:amethar as he falls |ten:fig after a concert |eleven:sam, and two first kisses |twelve:liam after losing preston |thirteengorgug finds himself through music |fourteen:cody takes pete to the mall |fifteen:sofia talks to kugrash |sixteen:dale, after |seventeen:tracker ponders their identity
Relationships: Aelwyn Abernant/Sam Nightingale, Ayda Aguefort/Figueroth Faeth, Bruce "Kugrash" Kugrich & Sofia Lee, Dale Lee/Sofia Lee, Jet Rocks & Ruby Rocks, Penelope Everpetal/Sam Nightingale (unrequited), Pete Conlan | Pete the Plug & Cody Walsh, Ricky Matsui/Esther Sinclair, The Bad Kids & The Bad Kids (Dimension 20)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 67
Collections: Dimension 20 Alphabet 2021





	1. a: alone

**Author's Note:**

> happy d20 alphabet! very excited to participate in this! fic title from xs by rina sawayama

Invisible, Ruby runs through the streets of Dulcington, faster than she’s ever gone in her life, and she prays that it’s enough. Her feet pound loudly against the pavement, the only sound in the quiet of night, a quiet that’s only eerie because of the night she’s had. _Jet,_ she thinks miserably, and she chokes down her terror, just for now, just until she can get to the castle.

There’s a part of her, a part that gets louder by the second, that knows it’s futile: she’s seen what the watersteel dagger can do, and Liam’s not a healer. Still, she can’t listen to that voice - she needs to get to the castle, and she can’t do that if she’s spiraling out of control. She has to be able to do that much.

Her mind is buzzing as she runs, replaying every event of the night over and over. _My fault,_ she thinks, over and over, as she recalls being the driving force behind them going to Lazi Fierce’s, as she thinks about running away. Tears pool in her eyes, only stopped from falling by the wind whipping in her face.

_It should’ve been me._

It’s not a helpful thought, she knows, but she can’t help it. Jet was going to be queen - she was going to help, she was going to bring magic back Calorum for good. Ruby can’t do that, doesn’t _want_ to do that. Jet was better than her in every way - and now, water is corroding her from the inside out, and Ruby can’t do anything but run. Run, and feel more miserably useless than she has in her entire life.

As she steps onto the bridge, lungs burning, she knows that she has to kill Ciabatta. The resolution doesn’t come hard and fast - no, it sinks slowly into her bones, a serene knowledge of what she must do. She gives no thought to the Ruby of a month ago who would be revolted at the idea of killing, especially someone so powerful, but this is not that Ruby. This Ruby knows that some things cannot be helped. This Ruby knows that the world isn’t fair, and when it isn’t, it’s up to her to take things into her own hands.

It doesn’t come as a surprise when, halfway across the bridge, the heart-shaped locket around Ruby’s neck flickers out, leaving her with only the light of the stars to guide her home. Still, it hurts more than anything ever has, and Ruby allows herself a moment to stop running, to collapse onto the side of the bridge in a mess of tears and grief. She knows she must keep going - it’s clearly not safe in Candia anymore, and they all need to leave as soon as possible. She just allows herself this: hiding under cover of night, dry heaving over the side of the bridge, feeling utterly and completely hollow.


	2. b: books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quiet night in ricky & esther’s apartment

“When did you fall in love with me?” Esther asks abruptly one night as they cook dinner. Ricky looks up briefly from the vegetables he’s chopping, tilting his head in a silent question. Esther’s got a small smile on her face, though she doesn’t look directly at Ricky. “I was just wondering, sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot-”

“Hey, you didn’t,” Ricky says, setting down the knife he’s holding and reaching out to place his hand on top of hers. Immediately, she turns her hand over and threads their fingers together. He learned early on into being friends (and later, more than that) with Esther that she tends to be guarded with her words unless she’s around people she’s comfortable with, but even then, she doesn’t like to be too openly vulnerable. He strongly suspects it has to do with her former curse, but he’s never pushed the issue. “I’d have to think about it, though. I don’t think it was one specific moment.”

“Oh, it definitely was for me. Remember that night in Clinton Hill, when we were in the library and you were trying to impress me?” As she says it, a smile spreads slowly across her face, infectious, and Ricky finds that he can’t help grinning as well. “I’d liked you plenty before that, sure, but getting to read you the nerdy magic stuff that I love and knowing I was being listened to, _really_ listened to, I don’t know. It felt good.”

Ricky turns his grin back down toward the half-chopped carrots, thinking back on that night. True, he had wanted to impress Esther, but more than that, he just had wanted her to smile and laugh a little. She’s always been so driven and focused, and he loves that, but her laugh is one of his favorite things in the world, and he’d always do anything to get to hear it. If it happens to be through perusing through a book with sentences too long and complex for him to comprehend, so be it.

“You know, I think that would be mine too,” Ricky says, and Esther rolls her eyes fondly. He was telling the truth earlier - he can’t possibly pick a single moment out in his mind where he remembers going, _Yes, it’s her, it’ll always be her._ Truthfully, he thinks he’s always been a little bit in love with Esther - who wouldn’t be?

Still, Esther doesn’t say anything, seemingly satisfied with his answer. He thinks she gets it - she gets what goes on in his head more than he does, sometimes. She simply leans up and presses her lips gently to his, and he’s more than happy to oblige.


	3. c: cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the bad kids’ semi-disastrous attempt at baking cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: i was actually going to write this for valentine’s day, but then ended up getting to busy to actually do it. needless to say i was thrilled when this popped up in the d20 alphabet list!

When Fig called the non-Mordred Manor residents over to make cookies, Gorgug had assumed that Fig had a plan. Now, he’s unsure _why,_ exactly, he thought that, because in the nearly two years that Gorgug has known Fig, he can count the amount of times that she’s had a plan for anything on one hand. Still, when Fig admits that she hasn’t _actually_ baked cookies before, the Bad Kids all grumble before Gorgug says that he thinks he can walk them through it.

_Thinks,_ because it’s been years since he would join his mom in making cookies, and even then, he mostly just sat on the table (already with his head nearly brushing the ceiling) and waiting for her to hand him the batter-smothered spoon. Still, he thinks he remembers enough to stumble through it, and really, how hard can it be?

\--

When Gorgug turns around from the fridge, a grimace his face, Adaine resists the urge to throw her head into her hands. It’s not a shock when Gorgug says that they don’t have the ingredients for cookies, but all of them sigh anyway, turning their faux-glares towards Fig. Fig just throws up her hands, saying “We can make a grocery run, geez! How was I supposed to know we didn’t have everything we needed?”

Adaine playfully jabs Fig in the side as they make their way to the Hangvan, saying “That’s kind of something you make sure you have _before_ inviting your friends over to bake.” Fig just rolls her eyes in response, but doesn’t protest the friendly arm Adaine throws over her shoulders.

Adaine doesn’t _really_ care. Mostly, she’s just excited that it means spending more time with her friends. She really tries not to think about her childhood often, because her life now is so _good,_ and that’s what therapy is for, but it’s hard not to when she’s able to see the stark contrast between her life then and her life now so clearly. As they pile into the car, Adaine can’t help the smile that spreads across her face.

\--

Fabian barrels through the store with the grocery cart with Riz sitting in the child’s basket, list in hand. The rest of the Bad Kids are somewhere behind them, but Fabian wants to be in and out of this store as quick as possible. He doesn’t particularly _like_ grocery stores - they’re boring, even with his friends. Still, Riz guides him through the aisles, pointing out things they need for the cookies. Truthfully, Fabian couldn’t care less about baking. Culinary prowess is not on his list of numerous skills, but it sounds like the rest of the Bad Kids are in much the same boat.

“The Ball,” Fabian says abruptly as he reaches for a bag of chocolate chips, “Do you trust me?” Riz furrows his eyebrows but tentatively nods his head, and that’s all the permission he needs before he pushes the cart down the aisle, Riz flying along inside it.

Riz lets out a shriek as Fabian doubles over in laughter, which is how the other Bad Kids find him. Someone - Kristen, he thinks - puts a hand on his back as he catches his breath and straightens his back, and Gorgug runs off to retrieve the cart and Riz, whose protests he can hear all the way down the aisle. “Wait, I want to go!” Fig cries, chasing after the cart to climb in it, and Adaine shakes her head fondly. Fabian’s grin just widens.

\--

“Hey, Gorgug, are you _sure_ it’s this much butter?” Kristen asks, wearily eyeing the three half-melted sticks that sit in front of her. He comes up next to her from where he was overseeing Riz cracking eggs and surveys the scene.

“Yeah, that does look like kind of a lot. Huh,” and Kristen can see the self-doubt creeping in behind his eyes.

“You know what? Let’s just use it anyway. I trust your judgement,” Kristen says, unwrapping all three sticks and throwing them in the batter unceremoniously. Gorgug widens his eyes at her, likely because she’s just ruined the batter, but she doesn’t really care about the cookies, because Gorgug’s smiling, and what kind of friend would she be if she put _cookies_ over her friend?

“Gods, that’s a lot of butter,” Fig comments, later, as they go to stir together the two mixtures. Kristen and Gorgug just make eye contact from across the room, devolving into a fit of giggles that just serve to confuse the others, but Kristen thinks she’s okay with that.

\--

Riz gets the cookies securely in the oven, setting a timer to take them out, and promptly realizes how much of a mess the kitchen is. Adaine’s already starting to clean, as is Gorgug, but Kristen, Fig, and Fabian have relocated to the living room already. “Hey!” Riz calls to them, “Come help us clean!”

“I don’t _clean,”_ he hears Fabian mutter under his breath, but he still follows Fig and Kristen into the kitchen. They clean mostly in silence until Riz feels something hit the back of his neck, someone snickering behind him. He puts a hand to the back of his neck and it comes back white. To his surprise, he turns and finds the culprit to be Adaine, a fistfull of flour in her hand.

“Adaine,” he says in faux anger, “I would expect that from the others, but you?” She shrugs in response, but before she can lob another fistful, Riz gets his hands on a bag of sugar, tearing into it and tossing it at Adaine. It doesn’t have the same effect, but it’s enough to get his point across.

Kristen’s eyes light up as she watches, and she thrusts her hand into the bag of chocolate chips that she was in the middle of putting away, tossing a handful at Fig, who pops the top on the vanilla extract and shoots in at Fabian, and then things devolve into too much chaos for Riz to keep track of anymore. Five minutes later, when they run out of food to throw at each other, the kitchen is in an even worse state than before, but Riz can’t really find it within himself to care.

\--

The six of them gather around the kitchen table, staring down at the cookies after they take them out from the oven. Everyone’s silent as they look, and Fig bites her lip.

They look like shit.

Really, it shouldn’t surprise her. She had kind of expected this the moment she decided to invite everyone over, but it’s still much more underwhelming of a reveal than she’d desired. Even so, she reaches for a lopsided cookie on top of the pile, smiling an unsure smile at the group as she does. Wearily, the rest of them follow suit.

As expected, they taste just like they look. Fig brings a hand to her mouth, Fabian runs to the trashcan to spit his out, and Adaine’s nose wrinkles. “These are _awful,”_ Kristen says, gagging, and the rest of them agree.

“Hey, but at least we tried?” Fig says, and everyone groans in annoyance, but she can see on their faces that they don’t really care about the cookies. She suspects that, just like for her, it was never actually about the cookies. She lets a grin overtake her face as she makes a big show of taking another bite out of her cookie, and only barely grimaces as she swallows it. The Bad Kids just laugh, and Fig feels victorious.


	4. d: dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fig, identity, and dance

When Fig was young, before she knew she was a Tiefling, she wanted to be a dancer. To be specific, she wanted to be a ballerina, twirling around the stage in a leotard, ribbons in her hair, perfect form. She took ballet classes for a little bit, and much to her chagrin, she hated it. Well, maybe not hate - she _definitely_ hated her teacher, with her frowning eyes and stern voice, who never seemed _satisfied_ with Fig, but also, ballet was hard, and Fig couldn’t quite keep up.

So, she reoriented and joined her middle school cheer team. It was fun, for a while, and she made some good friends. Well, maybe _good_ is a strong word, but they were nice enough to her, and she went to a couple of sleepovers, and it was fine.

(When she thinks about it, though, _really_ thinks about it, she thinks she knew that she was different, even then, even before her horns came through. That she was not as picture perfect as the other elves. That she had to try twice as hard to keep up with them.)

And then - her horns came in, and the life she’d meticulously crafted for herself came crashing down around her. Gone were the dreams of dancing - now, she tore down the fairy lights and put up posters of rock bands, and her cheer uniform got tossed in the back of her closet with her ballet shoes.

Fig never quite gave up on the idea of dance, though. She would never admit it - new Fig was too cool for dancing, with her smoking and her bass guitar, _thank you very much._ But she couldn’t deny that, lying in bed late at night, she missed the comfort of throwing on ballet shoes, of holding her pom poms tight.

It’s not until later, much later, when Ayda asks her about her childhood. “Oh,” Fig says, surprised, though she really shouldn’t be. Ayda loves learning, and she loves Fig, and it only makes sense that this would come up eventually. “Well, I danced. And cheered.” 

She explains all of it, and Ayda must pick up on something in her voice, because she says, “We could. Dance, I mean. If you wanted,” Ayda averts her gaze as she says it, which is a shame, because Fig is beaming back at her.

They end up signing up for ballroom dancing - Ayda had thought it seemed romantic, and Fig was inclined to agree. The teachers are two kindly older elves, and the class is fairly sparse, so Fig’s initial nerves melt away fairly quickly. Immediately, Fig is hooked in a way that ballet and cheer never quite enraptured her. Maybe it’s the slow, languid movements, maybe it’s Ayda’s presence, but she adores it nonetheless.

After they leave their first lesson, Ayda has a small smile on her face as she asks, “Did you enjoy it?” Fig nods immediately, and Ayda turns her smile towards her, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek.

Fig had thought that, once her tiefling identity became known to her, it meant she had to leave behind everything from her old life. And she does like her new life a lot - she loves the bass, the Cig Figs, the Bad Kids - but she loves dancing too, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe she doesn’t have to fit neatly into a box of her own design.

Maybe she can be Fig Faeth, rock star and ballroom dancer, and maybe that’s okay.


	5. e: eldritch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a brief history of the sugar-plum fairy

Once upon a time, the Sugar-Plum Fairy had half a dozen faces, gruesome and terrifying and beautiful. She did not think much about her appearance - her magic was what mattered, and if she needed a physical form to wield it, that is how it would be.

Quickly, though, she realized that her form was not helping her to spread her magic. Quite the opposite: she would materialize in front of Candians and they would cower in fear before she even began speaking. This would simply not do; so, the Sugar-Plum Fairy studied magic, and she studied folklore, and she studied Candians, and she found a form that would be suitable to her goals.

She wore this form, dainty, cute, and sickly sweet, when she was communing with her patrons, but when she was alone, she found it unnecessary. _She_ wasn’t afraid of her own appearance, unlike the weak Candians, so she allowed herself respite from her disguise whilst she was alone.

The Sugar-Plum Fairy kept this up for years, appearing before Candians and convincing them to take her magic, until one day, she felt herself being summoned. She was not disguised; hastily, she threw on the face that was not hers, but it did not feel quite _right._

As she predicted, the young rabbit who summoned her seemed equal parts shocked and horrified by her face. She caught her visage in a nearby pool of cola and saw exactly what she looked like: eyes too big, mouth too small, skin too purple.

It was offputting; she knew that. Even if she hadn’t been versed enough in what Candians expected fairies to be to know that, the look on this young rabbit’s face would have been enough. However, she liked this new, strange version of herself. The Sugar-Plum Fairy was a force to be reckoned with, giving Candians magic but not without a price, and she liked that this new form was uncanny enough to convey that.

So, she kept it up, this strange new appearance. She met with Candians and let her voice drip, honey-bright and lethal, and grew ever more powerful. She adored it, the new powers this form granted her - she felt unstoppable.

Until, of course, those blasted Rocks came to her temple. Now, that just wouldn’t do - all the Sugar-Plum Fairy has ever wanted was to protect the magic of Candia, no matter what she had to do to accomplish that.

No matter how many people she had to kill.

But the Rocks didn’t understand that. Of course they didn’t - they hadn’t ever appreciated all that the Sugar-Plum Fairy would do, _had_ done. How she saw it, there was only one thing left to do. With a wicked smile on her face, she dropped her disguise, revealing her true, grotesque self in all of its beauty and horror, as she descended upon the Rocks.

_There. Much better._


	6. f: family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> christmas at kingston’s

“Ready to go to Uncle Kingston’s?” Sofia asks Rosie, her voice light in the way it always is when she talks to her daughter. Rosie grins up from where she’s playing with a toy car, jumping up excitedly and sprinting towards the door. Sofia chuckles and says, “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Dale, hon, you ready?”

As she says this, Dale comes out of their bedroom, doing the top button on his shirt. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss Christmas dinner.” Dale kisses her on the cheek before opening the front door, and they stroll out of their apartment, Rosie between them, a tiny hand in each of theirs (at least, until Rosie gets tired of walking, and Dale hoists her onto his shoulders as she giggles).

When they get to Kingston’s, his apartment is already overflowing with people. Ricky and Esther stand in the kitchen with Kingston, Cody, Pete, and Maddie are talking on the living room couch, and, much to Rosie’s delight, Patrick and Danielle are playing some game that Sofia can’t even begin to comprehend by the tree. As soon as she spots them, Rosie sprints towards them excitedly.

Sofia makes her way over to the kitchen as Dale goes to talk to Liz and Iga. “Hey, Sofie, you make it here alright?” Kingston asks, wrapping her in a hug.

“Yeah, but Christmas traffic from Staten Island was fuckin’ brutal. You know how it is,” she says as she hugs both Ricky and Esther. They all laugh, and soon after Ricky dives into a story from Patrick’s little league game, and they spend the next hour like that, trading stories about their kids.

“God,” Esther groans self-deprecatingly at one point, a smile on her face, “We are such _parents.”_

“Yeah, it’s the best,” Sofia agrees, and Esther tips her back in laughing agreement.

The night is lovely, and she’s vividly brought back to Christmas of a few years ago, still at Kingston’s apartment, but only just starting to realize she was pregnant, alone and scared and missing Dale. She doesn’t miss it - she much prefers this version of Christmas, where her kid is playing with two of her best friends, where she can meet Dale’s eyes across the room and smile.

_Yeah,_ she thinks later, as they watch all three of the kids excitedly open presents, Dale stood behind her with his hands around her waist, _this is where I’m meant to be._


	7. g: grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pok gukgak’s funeral

The sun shines bright the day of Riz’s father’s funeral, cruel and cliched in its warmth. Sunlight burns bright on his face as he stares down the fresh-dug grave, waiting for his father’s empty coffin to be lowered into it.

Empty, because Pok Gukgak’s body lies somewhere in the bottom of the ocean, cold and dead and alone.

_It’s not fair,_ Riz thinks as the wooden coffin - the only thing they could afford, because who knew coffins were that expensive - is slowly lowered into the ground. It’s not fair that Riz is now fatherless, and doesn’t even have anything to show for it. He hasn’t cried much because he hasn’t been able to really believe it - after the initial shock of his mom telling him “I’m so sorry, honey, but dad’s not coming home,” wore off, all he’s really felt is this horrible, numbing emptiness.

He wonders if it would be different if there was a body. He wonders if that’s why he feels like this. (At age nine, already the clever detective, he’s beginning to suspect that it’s not, but this is not a case he is keen to investigate.)

His mom comes up to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, and he suspects it's just as much to comfort herself as it is to comfort him. He looks up at her, and sees her face is tear-streaked; unlike Riz, she’s been crying a lot the past week. Wordlessly, he leans into her side, readily accepting the comfort she’s offering up, hoping he can offer the same in return.

The burial passes quickly and without fanfare, and after some time, it’s just Sklonda and Riz left at the cemetery. Sklonda kneels in the freshly-laid dirt, Riz following suit. “Hey, honey,” she says, and her voice sounds thick with tears. “I love you. I hope you’re doing alright, wherever you are.”

There’s a pause that Riz quickly realizes is the end of her speaking, and he closes his eyes before speaking. “I love you, too, Dad. I miss you.” And with that, for the first time since his mom told him that Pok was dead, Riz cries.


	8. h: healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ragh learns to love himself

Ragh hadn’t realized how much he had hated himself until the world almost ended. Which, if he thinks about it, makes him really fuckin’ sad.

Well, maybe _hate_ is too great a word. Because, really, if the vitriolic way in which you hate yourself is only on the periphery of your conscious awareness, there but not in focus, can you really say you hate yourself? If a tree falls in the forest, or something.

(His therapist says yes, that just because he wasn’t aware he hated himself doesn’t mean that it didn’t do anything. And obviously he knows that, _hello,_ he’s living with the aftermath, but still. He doesn’t know how he feels about the word _hate,_ is all.)

He wishes, more than anything, that he could go back and talk to himself. Tell younger Ragh that he doesn’t have to live with an uncontrollable rage, roiling under his skin like an inferno, that he doesn’t have to take it out on other people, on himself. That he doesn’t have to be friends with Dane, who made him equal parts miserable and elated, in a really fucked up, horrible way.

That he doesn’t have to spend all of his time putting down parts of himself to appease a person who, when it came down to it, treated him pretty fucking bad.

He tries not to think about it too hard, because if he does, he gets really emotional for his past self, and then he feels dumb for it, because, like, he’s already lived through it. It’s over, he doesn’t have to let it hurt him anymore. He knows it’s not that easy - he knows that, but that’s not what it feels like.

But, he knows that when he is feeling shitty and sad, he has people now. People who, unlike Dane, care about him, _all_ of him, even the parts of him that he doesn’t particularly love. He can go to Kristen’s room and talk about queer theory with her for hours, or to Gorgug to talk about his rage, or to Adaine when he just needs to be around another person.

So, yeah, Ragh hasn’t always been his own biggest fan. But he knows he has other people in his corner, now, and he never realized how much it would mean.


	9. i: introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amethar as he falls

Amethar is paralyzed, falling from the side of the castle, but all he can think about is Jet and Ruby. He wishes he did more to keep them safe - now, he’s going to die, and he’s leaving them with nothing, no one to protect them. He’s felt like a bad dad a lot, lately, but this is the worst, this desperate hopelessness rising up in his throat, choking him.

He also, as much as he is loath to admit it, can’t stop thinking about Calroy. In the back of his mind, he searches through every memory, from the war to his coronation to ruling Candia, and as hard as he can try, he can’t find anything pointing to Calroy, the traitor. He knows that’s by design - if Calroy hadn’t let slip what he had been planning for twenty five years ( _twenty five years,_ he thinks deliriously), he wouldn’t be a very good traitor.

Still. Amethar feels like he should have _known,_ somehow.

The one person Amethar doesn’t think about is himself. Because, if he’s honest, he hadn’t expected to still be alive now. Making it through the Ravening War was shock enough, and living through the past two threats on his life has made him realize just how much he should not be alive now. It’s fitting, really; he’s cheated death so many times, it seems appropriate that it would come from where he least expects it.

Except - he feels himself slowly come out of paralysis, the water draining from his blood. He can’t give himself time to reflect. He’s angry, angrier than he’s ever been in his life: at Calroy, at the Bulbian church, at Calorum, at himself. As he hits the ground below him, the stone crumbling beneath his feet in a shower of pink and purple sparks, he does not die. The force of his rage strong enough to spare him that.

It feels wrong. He shouldn’t be alive, but he’s learned over the years that things don’t ever happen the way that they’re supposed to.

If they did, his sisters would still be alive. But they aren’t, and he is, and for some reason that is how the universe has deemed it so. He never wanted this, but it’s what he’s been given.

As he looks up from the shattered rocks beneath him, he looks up to see Ruby, sprinting across the bridge to the castle, the light around her locket flickering out. He knows what that means, but he can’t give himself time to mourn. Not yet.

Amethar takes stock of everything that’s been taken from him, everyone who’s done wrong by him, and he vows to make it right.


	10. j: joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fig after a concert

Fig always feels electric after a Cig Figs show. Sure, her voice is raw and her feet ache and she’s severely dehydrated, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world, if it means getting to play music for people who want to see _her._

And yeah, she’s had an unhealthy relationship with her minor celebrity and feeling like a fake, but she’s working on it. Besides, it’s much easier to ignore in the moment, when thousands of people in the crowd are singing along to her lyrics and she can think, _I did that._

Tonight, though, there is just one person she is listening to.

Ayda doesn’t come to Cig Figs concerts often - Fig can’t blame her, because they’re loud and bright and, frankly, overwhelming. But every time Ayda does come, standing backstage just out of sight of the audience, Fig is acutely tuned into her every reaction.

Yeah, she’s whipped. Sue her. Her girlfriend rocks.

“Thank you all, goodnight!” Fig shouts to the audience, receiving uproarious cheers in response. She turns to Gorgug as he stands from his drumset and, like they do at the end of every show, she hops on his back, and he carries her offstage as she laughs.

The second she’s backstage, Fig is scanning for Ayda. She’s easy enough to find, even in the dark - Ayda’s wings are a dead giveaway, but Fig thinks she’d be able to spot Ayda no matter what. Fig clambers off of Gorgug’s back and sprints towards her girlfriend, not a care in the world.

Ayda begins to raise her hands for a hug, but it’s not enough to prepare her for the way Fig barrels into her, throwing her arms around her neck. Ayda lets out a small “Oof,” and, despite Fig being a full foot and a half shorter than her, she stumbles back a step at the sheer force of Fig.

Ayda reorients quickly, though, wrapping her arms around Fig’s back. “You did wonderfully, Figerouth. Though, of course, you always do.” Fig grins into where her face is smushed into the junction between Ayda’s neck and shoulder and, half-drunk on adrenaline, she presses a kiss there before pulling back.

Ayda’s smiling in the way she always does when she’s amused by Fig, and Fig’s grins widens, cheeks aching with the force of it. “Thank you,” Fig says softly, and there’s a million things she’s thanking Ayda for: for coming, for complimenting her, for just being herself. Fig raises herself on her toes and, in the same moment, Ayda lowers herself to meet Fig for a kiss, and Fig puts all her love and gratitude into it.


	11. k: kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sam, and two first kisses

Sam is unsure why she let Penelope drag her to this party. Penelope is off somewhere, dancing in a throng of people, while Sam is stood plastered to the wall, nursing the same nasty drink she’s had since she got here. Sam hates these kinds of parties, and she hates that she lets Penelope convince her to come every time.

Sam misses when Penelope didn’t care about parties, about being friends with everyone. She misses when she was the only person Penelope needed, and then she feels selfish for thinking it. She doesn’t own Penelope - she can do whatever she wants.

Still, she wishes that she was enough for Penelope.

A bit later, Penelope finds her in the same spot against the wall, smiling wide. “Sam!” she shouts, voice straining to be heard over the music. She’s holding a cup and, based on the way Penelope said her name, it’s not her first one tonight. Sam musters a smile.

“Hey,” she says, and Penelope laughs, seemingly amused by Sam, and crowds into her space more.

“Hey, you should come dance with me!” Penelope exclaims, eyebrows raising as if it’s the best idea she’s ever had. Sam raises her eyebrows as well, but for much different reasons.

“No, I can’t dance!” Sam says, but she lets Penelope drag her into the throng of people regardless.

As they dance, they move closer and closer to each other, until Penelope’s arms are draped around Sam’s neck and Sam’s rest around her waist, both of them bouncing slightly off beat. Penelope smiles at Sam, and Sam smiles back, and Penelope leans in to press her lips to Sam’s.

Sam is shocked. She wonders what Penelope knows - if she knows how Sam feels and she feels the same, or if Penelope is just drunk and oblivious. She wants it so badly to be the first, but she knows, deep in her heart, that it’s not.

Her suspicions are confirmed when Penelope pulls away, a small giggle slipping from her lips. “Okay, I’ll see you later!” Penelope says, disappearing into the crowd, leaving Sam all alone once again.

\--

Sam’s friendship with Aelwyn isn’t the most surprising thing that has happened since her release from the crystal, but it’s sure up there. She’s one of the only Maidens who _is_ friends with her, and she can’t exactly blame them for not wanting to be close with her. But, Sam’s anger has never really been towards Aelwyn, anyway, so she started to talk to Aelwyn at one of the Mordred Manor parties, and one thing led to another, and now they’re sitting in Aelwyn’s room, each doing their own thing, just enjoying each others’ company.

And, Sam would be lying if the stirring of something _more_ than friendship were settling into her heart.

She tried to deny it, at first. Because the last person Sam felt this way about was Penelope, and that went sideways faster than Sam can really comprehend. She doesn’t really trust her judgement anymore, but after a while, it became too persistent to really ignore, so now she’s just trying to live with her adoration with Aelwyn, hoping it fizzles out before Aelwyn catches on and decides to ditch her.

It’s a plan that goes great, until, as she’s painting her nails, Aelwyn asks “I know you dated Johnny, before, but have you seen anyone else?”

Sam blanches immediately, because of course her mind goes straight to Penelope. She doesn’t know what to say - her and Penelope never dated, and that kiss at the party was the only time anything like that happened. “Um, not really,” she settles on, before grimacing as she continues, “I mean, Penelope kissed me, once, but I know she didn’t…” She trails off, because there’s not much more for her to say. Aelwyn seems to understand, though, and she nods.

“I guess I just ask - because, you know,” Aelwyn cuts off, swallowing. _She’s nervous,_ Sam thinks, and she realizes that she’s never actually seen Aelwyn nervous before, not like this. “I was wondering if maybe you would want to? Date, I mean.” Aelwyn is staring resolutely at her hands, which is a blessing, because Sam’s not sure what her face looks like.

This is what she wanted, but she’s not sure - the only people she’s ever wanted to date have been Penelope and Johnny, and neither of those turned out great. She knows Aelwyn is different, now, but she can’t shake the fear that if she does let herself have this, nothing good will come of it.

She takes a breath in and lets it out, trying to ignore her fears for now. “I think that sounds nice,” she says, and Aelwyn’s head snaps up, a quiet “Oh” leaving her mouth.

“Well, in that case, could I kiss you?” Aelwyn asks, and Sam’s nodding her head before she’s even consciously aware of it. Aelwyn leans in, and Sam meets her halfway.

It’s the best kiss she’s ever had.


	12. l: lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> liam after losing preston

When he closes his eyes, Liam only sees Sir Keradin’s mace coming down onto Preston’s tiny body, a helpless squeal coming from him just before his eyes go glassy.

Liam doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this before, so hopeless and horrified and _scared._ But also, roiling deep in his gut, is an anger so strong and unlike anything he’s ever felt. Liam has always been sweet and kind and lovely, and anger’s not something he’s ever had to reckon with, not like this. This is dangerous, this is lethal, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

He digs out his seed book, flipping through the pages. It hurts - he can so clearly picture finding every seed with Preston, and he can’t help but think _I’m never going to do that with him again._ He chokes back a sob and sets the book back down.

He doesn’t know what to do now. He’s always felt solid about himself, at least this part of himself; he’s a seed guy, after all. But now, he doesn’t know what to do. Without Preston, he doesn’t know who he is.

The anger rises in his chest once more, and he gasps at the feeling of it. In his wildest dreams, Liam could’ve never imagined being this _angry_ \- he thought the worst thing that would ever happen to him would be being a ward of the Rocks, and even that wasn’t so bad. This is so, so much worse, and it _hurts_.

He takes a deep breath in, letting the anger simmer. He knows what he _wants_ to do - he wants to avenge Preston’s death, he wants to take down Keradin once and for all. But he doesn’t know if he can, if he can abandon the person he is. (Or was? He’s not sure.)

Liam leans his head back against the wall, hot tears running down his face, and he hopes that he does the right thing.


	13. m: music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gorgug finds himself through music

There’s nothing Gorgug loves more than wailing on the drums. He isn’t _good_ at playing them, per say (though he is good enough to be in a band with one of his best friends), but when rage courses through his body, making him shake with it, nothing feels better than pounding on the drums as hard as he can.

Of course, that’s not the only reason he loves the drums. It _is_ why Fig gave him his first pair of drumsticks (quickly broken with the force of his playing), but he’s tried many things for his rage, and nothing has stuck in the way quite like the drums have.

When Fig handed him those drumsticks, it was the first time he _really_ felt welcomed by the rest of the Bad Kids. Sure, they’d hung out with him and talked to him, but they still treated him like an outsider, a weirdo. Not for long, but enough to make him feel just on the periphery. Until, at least, Fig gifted him drumsticks, a present not just lovely for its kindness, but for the thought she’d put into it. Music is her passion, what she literally gets her magic from, and she extended that to Gorgug so that he could hopefully get power from it as well.

And, she didn’t stop there, either. They started a band together, even though Fig could find hundreds of drummers more talented than him, just because she wanted him there. Being _wanted_ wasn’t something that Gorgug was used to, and he found he liked the feeling of it. Playing with Fig was fun, and playing for an adoring audience was even better. Sure, he isn’t the frontman, isn’t really the person people come to see, but it is still an adrenaline rush every time.

His parents were thrilled when he first started playing drums, and Gorgug didn’t realize just how much it would connect them. Gnomes are musical people, his parents especially; he hadn’t realized how much he would gain by playing music with them. Sure, the music they make is quite different; his parents play twinkling songs on ukulele, and he plays rock anthems on the drums, but it’s still something to connect them, something to bridge the gap.

It’s also nice to just be able to use his hands for something other than hurting people. He’s well past the point of being ashamed of his barbarian nature, but he still welcomes the opportunity to make something, to feel a sense of joy instead of anger towards the actions of his body. It may be an obvious feeling, considering it was the whole reason Fig encouraged him to take up drumming, but it’s one he didn’t know he needed until he had it.

Gorgug’s rarely more at peace than when he plays the drums, and it’s one of the greatest feelings in the world.


	14. n: night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cody brings pete to the mall

Standing in the ruins of the Queens Center Mall, Cody feels supremely stupid. He glances over at Pete, and in the dark of night, it's hard to get a read on him.

The thing is - Cody had wanted to bring Pete here, try to explain to him what the mall meant to him. Because he knows, he _knows_ it’s fucking weird for a twenty-seven year old guy to be as attached to a mall, his place of work no less, as he is. He feels like people don’t understand, and that’s fine, because he doesn’t need them to, but ever since he met Pete, it’s been different. Pete has always at least _tried_ to understand, even if he doesn’t always.

Cody didn’t realize how badly he needed someone like that.

But now, he’s stood in the massive dirt mound where the Hot Topic used to stand, barely able to see a foot in front of him because the only time they could trespass without getting arrested was in the fucking middle of the night, and he’s starting to realize how bad an idea this was. He didn’t _need_ to bring Pete here; he could’ve just _explained_ it, like a normal fucking person.

“So, this is where it was?” Pete asks, seemingly unperturbed despite how supremely bad this idea was. Pete is crouched down, hand absently running through the dirt. Cody nods in response, before realizing that Pete isn’t looking at him, and even if he was, he probably wouldn’t be able to see him.

“Yeah, uh. This was it, man.” He takes a breath, nerves alighting. _It’s just Pete,_ he thinks to himself, _it’s fine._ “Uh, I know working at a mall isn’t, like, _ideal_ for most people, but I liked it. It, uh, it meant a lot to me.”

Cody breathes, in and out, and just rips the bandaid off. “I’m not, like, a normal fuckin’ guy, like, obviously. And not in, like, an edgy way, you know? I, uh, kind of always knew that, but when I started working at Hot Topic, I felt like I could really lean into that, you know? Like, I didn’t have to impress anyone, because Hot Topic is already a place for social rejects, or whatever.”

Cody cuts himself off, and Pete rises from his crouch. He tilts his head in a way that he’s obviously contemplating something, and he says, “Yeah, I get that.” He inhales slowly, and then says, “You can tell me if I’m overstepping, or misreading, but was that you telling me something _else,_ or…” Pete trails off, but Cody knows what he was referring to.

Cody gulps, nerves alighting in his stomach even though he was expecting this. This is what he came here to do, for fucks sake, he doesn’t know why he’s so goddamn _nervous._ “Uh, yeah, yeah. I’m gay. Also, uh, maybe nonbinary? I’m still figuring that one out.” He closes his eyes, and he _knows_ that Pete is trans and bi and that he, of all people, won’t care, but it doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

Suddenly, an arm is slung around his shoulder. “Dude, that’s fucking great! I’ve been _saying_ we need more queer people in the Dream Team,” Pete says, and Cody laughs, and it comes out strained even to his own ears, but Cody feels better than he has in a really, really long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just for clarification: i hc cody as using he/they pronouns but at the time of this fic he doesn’t have that figured out yet!


	15. o: ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sofia talks to kugrash

The thing about living on an island is that it’s really easy to end up on the oceanside without noticing. And sure, Staten Island isn’t the smallest, as islands go, but it’s still an _island._ Sofia’s lived in Staten Island her whole life, and seeing the ocean wore off as a novelty early in her childhood. She sees it often enough, but it’s never really noteworthy.

At least, until it is.

After Kugrash dies, Sofia takes a lot of walks - some drunken, some not. She always says it's to help her clear her head, and it sort of is, but it’s also because she gets restless if she’s sitting too long, if she’s left alone with her thoughts. It’s much easier to take hour long walks, sometimes more, around her hometown with a podcast playing through tinny headphones than it is to sit in silence, unable to take her mind off of Kugrash.

It’s during one of these walks that she ends up in a secluded knoll right by the oceanside, a place she’s, surprisingly, never seen. Surprising, because at this point, Sofia thought she knew every inch of the island, but also because it’s so nice. And sure, Staten Island gets shit on a lot, and Sofia knows her home can be nice, but this is almost too much.

Suddenly, Sofia is overcome with too much emotion to name, and she finds that tears spring to her eyes, unbidden. She sniffles once, bringing a hand to swipe away some of the freshly fallen tears, but it's as if the floodgates have been open, and she’s having to sit on the shore of the ocean as she cries.

“Kug,” she says, at one point in the midst of her tears. Her voice is choked up and wobbly, raw emotion bleeding through. “I miss you, bud. And I know you’re still here, kinda, but it still sucks to not have you _here,_ you know?”

And without even really thinking about it, Sofia begins talking to Kug. It’s strange; she talked to Dale a lot after he died, but she wasn’t really sure if he could hear, but with Kugrash, she knows that he’s not even dead, not really. That if he wanted to hear her talk, he could.

Sofia begins to come to her little corner of Staten Island on days that are particularly bad, when she wants more than anything to be with Kug, brushing out his fur and laughing over some stupid joke he told. It’s not the same, not at all, but it’s _something,_ and she clings onto it for all its worth.

It’s not until a few weeks into this charade that Sofia begins to think that it’s odd that she’s never seen anyone else at her spot. Sure, it’s pretty tucked away, but Staten Island has nearly half a million residents. Surely someone would be here?

Almost as soon as she thinks this, she realizes - Kugrash _has_ been listening, and he’s been using whatever powers he has to keep this place open for her when she wants to talk. “God, Kug,” she says, tears brimming in her eyes, “You really are the best.”

A gust of wind rolls through the trees, and Sofia could swear that the rustle of the leaves sounds just like Kugrash’s laugh.


	16. p: post-canon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dale, after

Before his death (is it still his death, now?), Dale was an easy sleeper, unconscious almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. He always took it for granted, and it’s something Sofie would always tease him for; she’s a light sleeper, always having trouble falling asleep but waking at the drop of a pin. 

Now, after being brought back from heaven, he finds it much, much harder to sleep.

Part of it, he thinks, is the residual effects of heaven on him. There’s no sleep in heaven, and he’d gotten so used to it that his body still defaults to believing that he doesn’t need sleep when it _definitely_ does.

The bigger, more thought-consuming part of it is the guilt. Guilt over missing the last three years of Sofie’s life, of _his_ life. It’s hard to think about, everything that he’s missed. And he knows, he _knows_ that he should be grateful that he's even back at all, and he is, but it still hurts like hell to think of all he left behind. He almost feels as though sleep is a waste of time, that he should be spending it at the monastery or talking to Sofie into the late hours of the night.

Alas, he still needs to sleep, and until he feels as though he’s caught up with his life (which, he suspects will never _truly_ happen), it seems that that will be at least somewhat of a struggle.

It sucks, sure, but also, it isn’t so bad. After all, it gives him this: staring at Sofie’s sleeping form, her dark hair billowing around the pillows that he can brush gently away from her face with his fingers. She’s so peaceful at night; he loves Sofie and all her fire and passion, but he also loves this softer version of Sofie, the one that few people get to ever see. He feels special for it.

_Yeah,_ he thinks as he pulls her close, his chin resting atop her head, arms snaking around her waist. _This isn’t so bad at all._


	17. q: queer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tracker ponders their identity

It’s three in the morning, but Tracker is wide awake, eyes trained on the ceiling above their bed. This is not concerning, at least not to them; more and more lately, they’ve found themself in this same predicament, wide awake, thoughts running wild.

Oftentimes, it comes back to this: running different names and different pronouns through their mind, imagining their friends referring to them with them.

They aren’t sure when this started, this little thought experiment that turned quickly into something more. They think, at first, it was a curiosity after meeting Garthy, someone so upfront about their non-binary identity. Of course, before Leviathan, Tracker had known that non-binary people existed, but they’d never met someone so open about it, and Tracker was immediately drawn to them.

But they were able to chalk that up to a shared queerness, the familiarity of shared community. It wasn’t until after spring break, after the Nightmare Forest, that they began to toy around with the idea of their own gender.

(Really, if Tracker thinks about it, it started much, much earlier, but they always brushed it off, decided that it wasn’t important, that they were just a lesbian with a complicated relationship to womanhood and that was the end of it. Really, though, this has been a thought in the back of their mind for a long, long time.)

They haven’t told anyone; they want to, they _really_ want to, but Tracker has always hated coming out. And yeah, there’s a part of them that’s bitter; they had thought that, when they had come out as a lesbian, that that was it. The band-aid had been ripped; it was over. They hadn’t realized there was a different, harder to reach bandaid underneath that still needed to be pulled. Frankly, Tracker doesn’t want to go through that again, even though they know they have better support systems than when they came out the first time, because even though they _know_ that, it doesn’t exterminate the fear in their mind.

Honestly, Tracker is _tired._

They sigh, turn over in their bed, and close their eyes, trying to push thoughts of gender out of their mind until the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @ sasharchivists


End file.
